


At last.

by viflow



Series: You are my sunshine [1]
Category: Athelnar - Fandom, Vikings (TV)
Genre: Canon Diverge, M/M, My very own take of that s03e05 scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 18:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18057647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viflow/pseuds/viflow
Summary: Ragnar leaned forward, his intent gaze fixed on Athelstan. “Tell me about Paris!”“Again?”Athelstan rolled his eyes in that fond and exasperated way he had only for him, the one that always made Ragnar’s chest swell with warm and tenderness.“Please.” He said with a look, he knew his priest couldn’t resist.





	At last.

**Author's Note:**

> After watching TLK, I decided to give a shot to Vikings, never expecting to find smtg as beautiful and deep as Athelnar. And well... got totally hooked with them. And while I watched this scene, I couldn't help but translate it through their looks and subtexts, as the very moment when Athelstan gave in and made Ragnar known that he's finally got on board with resolving the sizzling UST between them. And after watching this vid: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9D1abLGYCj8, just really had to write a fic.

Ragnar leaned forward, his intent gaze fixed on Athelstan. “Tell me about Paris!”

“Again?” Athelstan rolled his eyes in that fond and exasperated way he had only for him, the one that always made Ragnar’s chest swell with warm and tenderness.

“Please.” He said with a look, he knew his priest couldn’t resist.

“I only went there once.” Athelstan started with a long, resigned sight, shooting Ragnar another one of his direct, soft, amused looks.

“Continue.” Ragnar urged him eagerly, leaning back and closing his eyes as Athelstan’s voice washed over him.

“I was visiting a monastery in Frankia, outside of Paris. And one day, the monks took me to see it. It was amazing...” Athelstan started to recount his visit to Paris for the umpteen time.

Maybe he’d never admit it to his little priest, but it wasn’t as much of what he said, than how he said it, what made Ragnar plead for a repeat. From the very start, there was something about the cadence of Athelstan’s voice that rose a sweet and bright flutter under Ragnar's ribs, making him to crave hearing it over and over again.

And over the years, Athelstan’s presence and his soft, calming, soothing voice became Ragnar’s very own anchor through the violent storm that was his life.

He was like some kind of drug, Ragnar became addicted to. Seeing how just knowing, safe and sound, Athelstan was there-- or raking his eyes over that beautiful, lovely face while listening to Athelstan’s voice, or sometimes, even without the need for words, just simply having the chance to let himself drown in those soulful, clear blue eyes, the color of the most radiant summer skies-- filled Ragnar with a supreme feeling of contentment and joyful peace. And if for whatever reason he was divested of Athelstan’s company for more than a couple hours of a time-- something jittery and reckless flared up in Ragnar's chest; something, that made him feel hollowed out and scorched his throat with an unquenchable thirst that couldn’t be extinguished, but for the presence of his lithe, brave, English priest.

 

He was just about to make some comment to Athelstan’s speech when Athelstan said something that made him snap up his head.

“But what I remember more is the beautiful women.”

Ragnar’s heart began to kick double time, but he forced himself to keep his voice teasing and light. “You never told me that part before!” He exclaimed, sitting up with a sudden move.

He half expected Athelstan to back off then, to pull back into his shy, pious shell that made Ragnar adore him just the more for it... and annoy him in equal measure.

But he didn’t.

Not this time.

This time, Athelstan didn’t shy away from Ragnar’s penetrating, questioning gaze. Instead, he leaned forward with a small smile quirking up the edge of his seductive lips, blue eyes flaring with a slightly challenging glint as he locked them with his.

“I almost questioned my vows of celibacy,“ he said with a suggestive lift of his brow.

Ragnar wasn’t stupid, he understood an invitation for a sexual liaison if he got one, and he was almost sure what Athelstan was alluding to there, but still... There remained a hint of doubt. And in this case, the danger attendant upon him misreading the signs Athelstan was giving him, was immensely high...

Because it was Athelstan.

The most precious thing in his life.

And he couldn't bear, not even the thought, of loosing him again, or risking an irreversible ditch and heartache between them, caused by a reckless action or word of his.

With his heart beating against his ribcage like a wild, frightened bird, he just stared at Athelstan helplessly while considering his reply.

He couldn’t believe it. He simply couldn’t… After a decade of waiting and yearning… After so many reckless nights spent with longing for this man...

He swallowed loudly against the sudden dryness in his mouth, and with his breath held in, “Are you saying what I think you are saying?” He asked carefully in a raw, roughened voice that struck in his throat.

Athelstand flushed at his directness but he kept his eyes locked with Ragnar’s, “Yes. I do.” He answered in a clear, surprisingly strong, determined voice.

Ragnar didn’t know what his own expression looked like in response to that, but Athelstan’s slightly amused gaze gentled as it moved over his face. Hell, he was a stewing, sparkling mess of anticipation, bewilderment and happiness, and for once, Ragnar didn’t... he couldn’t bother with masking his feelings.

Then he lost all train of thought when their gazes met again. Athelstan wore that smile that sometimes graced his face, a curving, irresistible thing with a faint blush denting his cheeks and a merry sparkle in his bright eyed gaze.

And helpless as always, Ragnar was drawn into it’s orbit.

Because what a thing that smile was. Rare and coaxing. And Ragnar couldn’t help but return it, his own mouth curving up in answer, his thoughts quite deserting him for a long moment as something brimmed through his chest, something achy and buttery soft, endless and deep. Something that was also dangerously possessive and consuming, as it spread through every part of Ragnar's whole being. 

He always prided himself on his patience, his iron will and power of restrain, but it took all of it and more... everything he got... not to draw his priest into his arms and kiss him senseless there and then, not giving a shit about the people around them.

He was so lost in his struggle not to do just so, that a sudden warmth on the back of his hand made him startle and almost jump out of his skin.

It was Athelstan’s hand, resting on his own for a second, squeezing gently in a wordless promise and assurance.

But as Athelstan went to withdraw his hand, before he knew what he was doing, Ragnar turned his own over so their hands were palm to palm. He tangled his fingers with Athelstan’s in a briefest caress, and Athelstan lingered too, neither of them willing to break the contact even as their hands drew apart and Ragnar returned his own to clutch them tightly together over the ache in his chest.

Bloody Hell and Heaven, Valhalla or whatever... and for the sake of all the Gods out there, but it was going to be the longest hours of Ragnar’s life until they arrived into Kattegat.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't know if I'm going to write more to this or not. Anyway hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
